


Weird But Confident

by almaasi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Arguing, Autistic Castiel, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Canon Universe, Crossdressing Dean, Dean in Panties, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Healthy Communication, Illustrated, Implied Bottom Dean, Jealousy, Laundry, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Motel Rooms, One Shot, Panties, Possessive Castiel, Romance, Sam Finds Out, Stimming, Team Free Will, Upset Castiel, fidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-20 23:07:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/pseuds/almaasi
Summary: Castiel enjoys going through Dean's personal belongings, and Dean enjoys letting him. One evening Cas finds a pair of panties in Dean's bag, and assumes the worst: Dean slept with someone else.(Spoilers: He didn't. The panties are Dean's.)
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 50
Kudos: 1056





	Weird But Confident

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** Mentions of past Dean/Anna and Dean/other people.
> 
> Beta'd by [Katie](https://crab-full-of-rocks.tumblr.com/) and [Joanjun](https://roisu10.tumblr.com/)!  
Special thanks to my Patrons for assuring me this was A Good Fic, after I'd wavered over posting it for 7 months, not being sure about it. c:

Castiel had a habit of going through Dean’s stuff.

It had never felt invasive, because Cas only got nosy around the same time Dean started trusting him.

It had felt weird, the first time, and Dean had gotten flustered, hanging around nearby asking questions like, “Um, do you really gotta—” and, “Seriously, what are you—”, not to mention the good old, “Okay, _that_’s, are you, eh-heh! Cas, why—”

But Dean didn’t actually ask him to stop, so Castiel serenely carried on, picking out one item, looking at it, then putting it back.

Eventually Dean realised Cas was just curious. Like a kitten. Or a child. Or an ancient angel who’d never seen a stretchy pair of boxer-briefs before in his life.

The next few times, Dean watched Cas go through his things, but didn’t interfere.

Soon it became a regular occurrence, and Dean barely noticed when Cas starting pulling out his clothes, or his toiletry bag, or mindlessly began pairing socks.

The only truly weird thing about it was the fact Cas clearly wasn’t satisfied by one look. He still went through Dean’s crap, like, once a week. Whether it was Dean’s fresh laundry at the bunker, or his closet, or just his duffel bag while out on the road, Cas never seemed to be looking for anything in particular, but looked at everything, and always put the stuff back neatly. Then, when Cas was done, he went to sit in a chair, or watch TV, or began thumbing through the motel room Bible.

Despite being raised with a military father, Dean had now been eternally emancipated from said father, and his personal organisation skills had gotten lax. And that wasn’t all that was lax. It had taken Dean an embarrassingly long time – like, _years_ – to realise Cas had moved on from curiosity a while back, and was now just _tidying up his bag_. 

This time, Dean slowly opened his bag with his fingers on the zipper, and marvelled at the stacked shirts, colour-coordinated, organised by fabric type. Suddenly the zipper wasn’t bulging.

Dean flicked his eyes to Castiel, breathed a word of thanks, and went back to planning their hunt.

This time Dean was rattled not by Cas’ actions, but his own lack of understanding. All this time he’d thought Cas wanted to look at his underwear or sniff his shirts or something. But he was just playing housekeeper.

For a while, Dean was distracted by his inner blush, needing Sam to repeat a few sentences.

Dean felt kinda sad now. Cas wasn’t expressing fondness, he was fixing Dean’s annoying problems, like always. That was all he’d ever done.

  


⋆ ⋆ ⋆

  


Castiel liked the boxer-briefs best. The stretch in them was entertaining for his hands, and he liked tugging them surreptitiously when Dean wasn’t looking. Or even when he was.

Castiel also liked the t-shirts with logos or slogans or fictional characters on their fronts. They were interesting pieces, and although he couldn’t say he understood or recognised them all, he wished Dean would wear them more. Dean seemed to keep them just for bed, and he never let Cas stick around overnight to see him wear them.

Even so, the fact he slept in them meant they smelled especially strongly of his scent, and if Castiel were the sort who stole from his favourite people without an easily-justifiable reason, he might have considered sneaking one of Dean’s bed shirts into his coat pocket to carry with him when they were apart.

It was a Thursday night when Castiel next had an opportunity to sort through Dean’s belongings. He stood at the foot of the bed and unzipped Dean’s bag while Dean was in the shower. He wouldn’t mind, he never even blinked when Castiel started folding things these days.

Given there was a free bed to spread things out, Castiel reached in and took items one by one. He didn’t want to tip everything in a pile, because he appreciated discovering the many ways Dean had messed up his bag in the days gone by. The fact that his razor was out of his toiletry bag, and his men’s fashion magazine was folded back on itself and bent around a shoe, told Castiel plenty about the speed at which Dean had vacated his last motel.

They’d talked at length over the phone earlier, Dean laughing about Sam’s sharp departure once he realised the case revolved around a haunted carnival. Six clowns was Sam’s limit. Ten was too many. Dean finished the hunt with Jody and Donna, then rushed off in Sam’s wake.

Castiel had caught up with Sam and Dean here, in Iowa, which was a place full of corn and not much else, Dean said. Castiel counted twelve hot air balloons as he’d driven in, however, so they’d had a friendly argument about whether a hot air balloon event counted as being _in_ Iowa if it was, in fact, floating over it.

Anyway, the point was, Castiel thought, as he grouped Dean’s shoes in correct pairs on the floor – one dress shoe, one boot, then the other boot, then a dress shoe – he was fairly certain Dean didn’t try very hard to keep his bag neat. Regardless of how much of a rush he was in, Dean hunted cleanly. He did his hair perfectly every day, no exceptions. He ate a little messily, perhaps, but his plate was always sparkling by the time he was done. Dean was not, and never had been, a slovenly person.

Which led Castiel to the easy conclusion that Dean left the mess for him.

Perhaps there was an element of pleasure to Castiel’s routine inspections. He liked arranging things, and folding things, grouping things by type. But part of his enjoyment came from the knowledge that Dean wanted him here, wanted his hands in his bag and his fingers picking up his underwear, sorting dirty from clean, since Dean hadn’t bothered.

There had been times Castiel wondered if Dean was leaving a mess here because he didn’t _need_ to bother, trusting that Castiel would do it for him. They both knew Dean was capable of sorting laundry. He’d never once turned anything pink, at least not by accident. But Dean didn’t seem the kind of person to let someone else pick up the slack, in anything, ever. Even as a great leader, he still struggled to delegate.

No. Dean knew Castiel liked the job and let him do it, Castiel was certain. These days Castiel did the laundry by choice, having expressed to the brothers that it brought him joy.

Recently Dean and Sam had accompanied him to a laundromat in Tennessee, both watching in quiet bemusement as Castiel organised their things by colour, putting coins in the machines, then pulling up a chair to watch the drums tumble.

Sam got bored quickly and left.

Castiel watched the clothes.

Dean watched Cas.

“You’re kind of a freak, Cas,” Dean said.

Castiel lowered his eyes, almost looking over at Dean, but stopping himself.

“It’s cute,” Dean added carelessly, hooking an ankle over his knee, magazine flipped open over his inner wrists. “And it’s cool that you don’t bother hidin’ it, too.”

Now Castiel looked at him.

Dean shrugged, glancing over, then down. “Just saying. Weird stuff goes down way better if you’re unapologetic about it. Confident. Y’know?”

Castiel said nothing, but absorbed that as fact.

Dean smiled and went back to his women’s fashion magazine, and Castiel looked back to the washing machines. (After a minute, he felt Dean’s gaze on him once more.)

Now, in their warmly-lit motel room in Iowa, Castiel placed Dean’s socks in pairs, flattening them out, making sure each had the right partner. He soon moved to t-shirts, and jackets, and then emptied Dean’s toiletry bag and arranged his toothbrush and toothpaste side-by-side, with his razor beside them to replace in the leather pouch later.

Then Castiel fished inside the duffel and pulled out something he hadn’t seen before.

It was soft and pink and a little shiny, and the fabric had a nice pull as he stretched it out.

He recognised the item as underwear, but squinted, as it wasn’t one of Dean’s. He turned them around, and decided they were not Dean’s, as Dean had a penis, and given their narrow, flat front, these were not designed for a penis.

If they were not Dean’s, whose were they?

Castiel slowly sat on the other bed, looking down at his find.

Most women didn’t have penises. So it seemed logical that these were made for women to wear.

Why did Dean have something belonging to a woman? Castiel thought of all the women Dean knew, and then compared their size to the size of these, and was distressed by the realisation that they would fit none of them. They were too big for Claire or any of her friends, or Mary, or Charlie, or Rowena, too small for Donna. Perhaps they might fit Jody, but Castiel could think of zero good reasons why Dean would have Jody’s personal belongings with him – unless he took them accidentally and intended to return them.

Yes.

That had to be the reason.

Castiel looked away, finding himself at the mercy of some inner, scrambling demon of insecurity. It didn’t matter how sensible his idea about Jody was; the easier conclusion was that Dean had engaged in intimate relations with a stranger and kept her clothing the way Castiel wished he could keep Dean’s.

Castiel screwed up his face and screwed up the underwear, standing up in a rush and tossing the item back on the bed, storming to the other side of the room. He fretted, and grasped at his hair, and turned his hurt eyes towards the bathroom door.

His belly churned with upset.

He’d claimed Dean once, with a handprint on his arm. He’d soon come to realise that the claim meant little to Dean, and he went about his second life the same way he had during his first, sleeping with women however and whenever he liked, including with Castiel’s own sister.

So Castiel claimed him again, by falling from grace for him. Again, by travelling with him, coming whenever he called. Again, by falling more deeply in love, again by telling him indirectly that he loved him. Again, again, giving up armies, giving Dean everything he had to offer.

Dean had taken the hint eventually. He hadn’t given his heart or body to anyone, man or woman, for many years.

At least, Castiel had thought so.

  


⋆ ⋆ ⋆

  


Dean came out of the bathroom whistling, hands in the towel wrapped around his head. “Hey, is Sammy back yet?” Dean asked, looking up. “Cas?”

The motel room was empty and still.

Dean frowned. “Uh. Okay. Just me, then.”

He unwound the towel from his head and looked for a place to dump it, but found all his stuff was still on the bed. Cas hadn’t finished tidying. He hadn’t even finished pairing socks, and that was the most important part, because solitary socks made both Dean and Cas sad. (Dean didn’t mind mismatching pairs, but heterogenous socks agitated Castiel.)

Dean rummaged through the mess, wondering which underwear he ought to pick, when his eyes fell to his panties, and he smiled.

“Hell-o,” he said happily, reaching to pick them up. He gave their elastic sides a little stretch. “Come to papa. Haven’t seen you in a while.”

He lifted a foot and pulled the soft pink fabric over his ankle, then the other too. He did a sexy wiggle as he pulled them all the way up, and gave a whip of his towel and a sigh of “Whup-paaah,” as the towel flung away.

He purred, rubbing his hips, looking down at his panties in delight. “Hm!”

Castiel opened the motel door and blustered in, looking annoyed.

“Whoa!” Dean snatched his towel and clutched it to his middle, hiding his lower half. “Give a guy a little warning, jeez.”

“What I fail to understand,” Castiel said crossly, scowling at Dean’s knees, “is how you can be so careless – no, so _oblivious_ as to never stoop to wonder why I go through your clothes. Why I take care of them as you so _rarely_ do, when, somewhat antithetically, you appear to value your physical presentation so highly. Did it never occur to you that it was an act of care for _you_, because perhaps on some level I, as an angel, happen to have some insufferable affliction which might, in some universe – one of which you are evidently not a citizen – be closely associated with love?”

Dean parted his lips, unsure what to say, but certain he ought to say something. He had no context, but could just about infer that he’d done something wrong, and it had something to do with his messy bag.

“And another thing!” Castiel held up an angry finger. “I can’t speak for your intentions, but I can certainly infer my own conclusions about the emotional results of your actions. As clueless as you are, Dean, I happen to know that you do nothing _without_ intention, or some underlying subconscious desire. Did it not occur— Did you not _think_ about how much could be undone with one action? Or did you?” Castiel stormed closer, waves of irritation radiating off him, scaring Dean and kinda turning him on too, because he felt the prickle of static on his wet skin and Cas’ eye contact had never once been more intense. “Did you do this to hurt me? Or was it simply your way of giving me a message?”

Snorting, Castiel turned away, stalked a few paces, then came right back. “You could have spoken to me, Dean. Told me there was someone else. I may be naive in many ways, it’s true, but I am not naive enough to think that our never having spoken aloud of our love for each other means there is no love to speak of. Or perhaps I _was_ naive, thinking our unspoken bond came paired with trust or fidelity going _both_ ways.”

Dean shook his head, mouth open. “I—I don’t— What—”

Castiel seemed more hurt than angry now, the flames in his eyes extinguished by tears. “I can’t imagine how to make myself clearer, Dean. I’ve said what I’ve been able to say over the years, but I never went further. I remained vague because I _feared_ pushing you away the way you’re pushing me away, now.” He pressed his lips together and hung his head. “I’m sorry for taking so long to understand. If you’d like me to leave, I will.”

Dean let out a squeak. “No.”

Castiel looked up.

Dean shook his head. “No. Stay. Stay, Cas.” He grinned, looking quickly to the side, then back to Castiel. “Look... I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Yeah! Yeah, I’m a dense as a brick. Go figure. But maybe if you lay it all down for me, something’ll stick.”

Castiel squinted. “Are you pretending you don’t understand, or do you really not understand.”

Dean clutched his towel tighter around his waist, and said, firmly, “I really don’t understand.”

Castiel let out a huff, a smile at the corner of his lips. “Good. At least it was an accident.” His smile vanished quickly, and mourning returned to his eyes. “You’re seeing someone.”

“I’m... seeing you?” Dean frowned. “You’re right in front of me, buddy. Haven’t seen Sam in a couple hours, he’s getting barbeque corn.”

Castiel’s lips separated, a soft little gape that seemed as innocent as it was weighed down by some heavy realisation. “You... haven’t...? You haven’t been intimate with another woman?”

“_Another_ woman? Who was the first one?”

Castiel stared, perplexed.

Dean stared back, utterly baffled.

Castiel tilted his head by an inch. His voice changed, went deep and low and rumbly with amusement. “Dean, whose underwear did I find in your bag?”

Dean looked around at the mess. “Uh. Mine. It’s my bag. I mean, if some of Sam’s got in there, it’s no biggie, but—” Dean’s heart leapt, mouth whispering over another syllable that never formed. His eyes shot down to the towel around his waist, then back to Castiel’s loosened necktie.

Then his eyes lowered to his bare feet, and he sighed, “Oh.”

“Dean,” Castiel pried.

“Mine.” Dean gulped. Ears burning. Chest thumping. Fingers tingling. “They were mine.”

Confidence, right? Just say it with confidence and Cas would never know that large-sized stretchy pink panties were an unusual thing for a guy to own.

Castiel swallowed; the softness of his throat bobbed up to the hardness of his jaw.

Dean let out a warm breath, relaxing his mouth open, eyes cast towards a loose sock on the carpet.

“Dean?” Castiel looked stern when Dean glanced up at him. He only became sterner, demanding, “Prove it. Prove they were yours.”

Dean bit his lip, letting out a huff of a laugh. “Easy.” He flattened his lips, took in a boldening breath, and let his towel drop to his feet.

Castiel looked down, and Dean saw his lips part, eyelashes flutter, eyes widening a fraction.

“Told ya.” Dean smiled. “Hot, right?”

Castiel didn’t seem to know where to look – the bulge in the stretchy fabric, the way they sat low on Dean’s hips, the trail of hair that thickened before it met the pink band. Castiel’s eyes settled on the ceiling, shaking his head ever so slightly.

Dean’s smirk quickly faded, overtaken by a rush of other worries. He shut his eyes tight, then burst out, “Cas, did you just say you were in love with me, or did I interpret that rant all wrong?” He looked up at Castiel, imploring him to give an answer. “Because – heh! – from where I’m standing it kinda. Kinda sounded like. You said you fold my clothes ‘cause you love me. I mean I kind of already thought that butbutbut _do_ you?”

Castiel drew a breath, avoiding Dean’s gaze. “If that’s what you heard, then perhaps that’s what I said. I can’t confirm.”

Dean gulped.

“However,” Castiel said coolly, looking down at Dean’s panties again, reaching over a finger to pluck at the band to make it snap on the soft skin of his inner hip – an action which sent every sense into overdrive in Dean’s mind, body, and soul – “If that is what you believe, Dean, if you think I go through your personal items as a demonstration of love, it does beg the question of why you continually leave a mess for me to tidy, thus inviting me to pry.”

Dean’s lip wobbled as he tried and failed to construct a reply.

Castiel’s thumb edged around the panties’ lace band, watching his own advancement with apparent relish.

“You never seem to stop me,” Castiel went on.

Dean shifted on his feet, clearing his throat, eyes down to watch Castiel finger at the stitching. “Cas, you never said you were jealous when I was with other people.”

Castiel lifted his fingers, froze, then lowered them again, but to his side, not to Dean’s. “You ignored every claim I made on you beforehand.”

“Claim?”

Castiel answered slowly, after several hesitations, and he said nothing; he simply placed his hand on Dean’s upper bicep, squeezing.

_Claim_.

Okay, now Dean felt stupid. He excused himself the slow understanding of this entire conversation, as he’d been missing a good chunk of information when it began. But in hindsight, a handprint scar on his arm did seem kind of like a signature. Like stitching a name in a baseball cap. Like carving initials into the lining of a car’s trunk. Like putting a ring on someone’s finger and kinda assuming that meant they’d double-check it was okay before sleeping with someone else.

“This is gonna sound like something a dickhead would say,” Dean started, “but honestly, Cas? I, uhhhm. I didn’t think you cared so much about the sex.”

Castiel squinted.

“No, really,” Dean said, rolling both shoulders, banding an arm over his middle, as he stood all but naked, with only fragile words to cover himself. “I didn’t think you cared about... getting it on with me.”

“I don’t,” Castiel said, continuing to squint. “My desire to have sex with you is the least of my current concerns.”

“Soooo...?” Dean held his gaze, shrugging one shoulder. “Dog in the manger, much? You can’t have me, so nobody else can?”

Oh, those words made Castiel _livid_. His jaw set, his nostrils flared, his trenchcoat seemed to lift an inch off his shoulders like his wings flared underneath. “I _can’t_ have you?”

Dean stuttered, “Nonono thatthattht’s not what I mean I just I wasn’t—”

“_Why_ can’t I have you?” Castiel demanded. “What special, unequivocal thing must I do to become _worthy_ of your romantic attention, Dean? What did Anna do for you that I can’t, given some instruction? What do diner waitresses know of the almighty universe that I don’t? What man is so much more attractive than me that you care so little about how he hurts you, because – and I quote – you ‘got some’?”

Dean just kept shaking his head, over and over. He couldn’t believe Cas was losing it over the fact Dean had panties in his bag. Because that what this was about, wasn’t it? He thought Dean was with someone else. He thought Dean didn’t want him because he wanted other people more, not realising that Dean hadn’t slept with anyone in years. Cas thought his feelings were being ignored even though Dean knew of their existence. He thought Dean meant to hurt him.

“No,” Dean breathed, eyes shut. “Cas, you’re wrong. You’re wrong.”

“About what?”

Dean ran his hands up over his eyes, pushing his damp hair back to his scalp, letting it flop forward again as he lowered his hands. “All of it. Every damn thing.” Dean gripped Castiel’s necktie in his fist and took one step closer, pressing their bodies warm together. Dean’s jaw remained steady, eye contact unwavering, as he said, in his deepest, most confident voice, “I stake my claim. And, Cas, I swear to God, don’t you _dare_ say it’s too late.”

And with that, he shut his eyes and kissed his best friend.

Castiel gave a very surprised hiccup. His eyes were open, his hands hovering by Dean’s shoulders.

Dean frowned and squeezed his eyes tighter, kissing harder, willing Cas to accept.

Castiel snickered into the kiss, then opened his mouth, and Dean _sank_ into it, into him, hands around the back of Cas’ neck, as Castiel embraced his lower back.

They pressed, and pulled, and lost their minds for a few searing moments.

“Mm,” Dean sighed, smooching now. Soft, tiny kisses, rolling in experimental touches. He tilted his head. “Hmmmm.”

Castiel smiled, then grinned, breaking the kiss and pushing Dean back with a hand on his heart. “Yes,” he said, “it was too late.” His eyes glimmered, silencing Dean before he could erupt in complaint. “But,” Castiel assured him, softly, eyes lowering to his lips, “better late than never. As overused an adage as that is.”

Dean grinned, pursing his lips around his grin as Castiel leaned in for another kiss.

Dean then yelped in Castiel’s face, because there were two very big hands holding his ass right now. Dean laughed, thumping his forehead down onto Castiel’s shoulder, biting his lower lip as he felt Cas squeeze.

“Since we’re staking claims...”

Castiel’s sentence ended there.

How dare it.

Dean stood back, in awe. He looked into Castiel’s sparkling eyes, dumbfounded. “Did you just... claim my ass?”

Castiel quirked up an eyebrow. “If that’s what you heard, perhaps that’s what I said. I cannot confirm.”

Dean gawped, then laughed, shoving Cas and pushing against him, then easing around him to get to the bed. “Look, asshole,” he said, spanking his own ass, “this ass belongs to one man, and that man is me.”

“Oh?” Castiel looked disappointed.

Dean caught his eyes and winked, bowing to pick up a t-shirt. “You can borrow it.”

Castiel tenderly snatched the t-shirt out of Dean’s hand. “Here.” He gave him a different one, one with a beetroot screen-printed on it. It was one Charlie had given him as they crossed paths last. The beetroot looked kind of like a heart, and it said in big letters around it, _U Make My ♡ Skip a Beet_.

Dean held it up, wondering, not for the first time, why Charlie chose it for him.

Castiel pushed it towards Dean insistently.

Okay. Dean rolled the shirt onto his arms, then scooped it over his head. He gazed at Castiel the whole time, then spread his arms. “Happy?”

Castiel took in the picture of Dean in his beet t-shirt and pretty pink panties, and nodded, content. He looked back at Dean. “Very.”

Dean couldn’t help but smirk, feeling sexy and cute and all that good stuff.

He oughta thank Charlie for the shirt sometime. He recalled giving a cough of “Ugh”, rolling his eyes, and tossing the gift into his tangled bag, and that was no way to treat a friend’s kindness, _or_ something Cas clearly cared about.

Or something Dean cared about, for that matter.

Guiltily, Dean wet his lips and looked down. “Sorry I keep messin’ up my bag. Like you said, Cas... I only do stuff on purpose or – y’know – unconsciously. But there’s a reason, right? There was a reason I did it. Reason I stuffed these in there.” He patted his panties, then swallowed, lowering his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe I... um. Wanted you to find them. God knows. I can’t— Can’t think why, ‘cause, Jesus Christ, _no_. But also?” He took in a thick, hopeful breath that made his chest feel light, gaze set fully on Castiel’s. “D’ya like ‘em?”

Castiel smiled, and it reached his eyes. “They’re yours and nobody else’s. So yes.”

“D’ya like me?” Dean teased, batting fingers against Castiel’s middle.

“_You’re_ mine and nobody else’s. So yes.”

Dean laughed, taking Castiel’s hand as he did. They turned together, embracing almost accidentally, Castiel wrapping his arms around Dean’s middle. By the time Dean realised he’d been hugged, he’d also been kissed; Castiel pressed his stubbly muzzle to Dean’s t-shirted shoulder, and breathed out.

They swung together like that, Dean holding Cas’ arms so they stayed around him.

“Are you still mad?” Dean asked quietly.

Castiel shook his head. “Are you?”

Dean shook his head. “Are you sorry for yelling at me?”

Castiel snorted. “Given the result? Not in the least.”

Dean snickered. “Yeah.” He turned his head and rested his cheek on Castiel’s fluffy hair, then smacked a kiss to his forehead. “Me neither.”

  


⋆ ⋆ ⋆

  


Sam returned to the motel with paper bags of barbeque that filled the room with the mouth-watering smell of hot grilled corn. He closed the door, and was startled by the sight before him: Dean and Cas giggling – _giggling_ – and fighting each other on the bed on top of Dean’s clothes, Dean with a t-shirt wrinkled halfway up his chest, his ass covered only by something pink and tight. Castiel was wearing only a rumpled dress shirt and slacks and socks. Neither Dean nor Cas seemed that alarmed to see Sam walk in on them.

Dean sat up with a bounce, breathing hard, lips plump. “Hey,” he panted. “Hey look, he brought food.” He batted Castiel’s shoulder and started to wriggle out of his grip. “C’mon, let’s eat before we get busy.”

Castiel chuckled and went after Dean, slapping his ass.

“Ooh,” Dean said, not in complaint.

Sam stared, but was unsure what to stare at. “Uh. What— Who— How—”

Dean just grinned with his teeth on his lower lip, sneaking his dinner out of the bags Sam put on the table. “Don’t ask questions, Sammy,” he said. “You don’t wanna hear the answers.”

Castiel smiled, sidling up to the table, picking out an ear of corn and giving it a sniff.

“Why aren’t you,” Sam began, “I dunno. Panicking. Embarrassed. Yelling at me to get out.”

Dean looked at him flatly. “Dude, you brought food.” He took his serving and wandered off. “You don’t get kicked out for that.”

“But you— You and Cas, aren’t you—”

Castiel sighed. “Sam’s as bad at asking questions as you are, Dean.”

“Are you – together now?”

Dean pursed his lips, hiding a smile.

Castiel put down his corn and wiped his fingertips together, lifting his chin to look back at Sam. “We’ve both been a loving, faithful partner to the other for number of years. Dean just didn’t consciously realise it until today.”

Dean cocked his head like it was true, then sank his teeth into his food.

Sam shook his head, finally digging around to get his own dinner. “I dunno. I just. Expected you to get all nervous if I ever saw you like that. Flustered. Maybe I had it all wrong.”

“Oh, you had it right,” Castiel said lowly, pulling out a chair and sitting down, facing the brothers as they ate at the foot of their respective beds. “Dean and I just learned that it’s much easier to tackle an embarrassing revelation if you pretend it’s not weird. Like the fact I enjoy watching washing machines rotate.”

Sam had no sensible response to that.

Dean grinned over at him, mouth full. “Ya like my panties, Sammy?”

Sam did not look. “Sure.” He looked back at his own food. “Absolutely... super.”

Dean snickered. “I think we broke him, Cas.”

Castiel smiled back at Dean, eyes gleaming. “I do hope your ass isn’t that easy to break. I think I might enjoy a challenge.”

Sam stared at a sock on the carpet. He couldn’t think.

But then he realised he didn’t need to think.

Slowly, he leaned down, pried the sock between his fingers, and offered it to Castiel.

Castiel got up from his chair, gently taking the lone sock from Sam.

Castiel smiled, looking over to Dean. “Do you have a sock that needs a pair?”

Dean tilted his head towards his bed, where all his items were scattered, once tidy, now tangled and unfolded. “Have at it.”

Castiel went to the bed, starting to straighten all the arrangements. “May I make a request?”

“Anything,” Dean said, looking back over his shoulder at Cas. Sam paused in chewing his fourth bite of hot corn, listening.

“Could you leave your bag messy for me?”

Dean grinned. “Yeah.”

  


⋆ ⋆ ⋆

  


Cas no longer had a habit of going through Dean’s stuff. It was no habit, it was a ritual. An act of love for himself, and for Dean, that brought them both some kind of pleasure.

It was weird, yeah.

But Dean offered his mess for Cas to tidy with so much confidence, and Castiel took it with so much quiet, subtle joy, that it stopped seeming weird, and started, in Sam’s eyes, to seem loving. Almost _normal_.

Digging into Dean’s stuff was one thing.

Digging into his ass was another.

Sam very quickly had to learn that they didn’t put a sock on the door because Cas didn’t understand why someone would _separate_ a pair to symbolise a _coupling_ in the next room.

After some insistence, they came to an agreement.

Two socks.

Two socks, and a t-shirt with a beetroot on it.

Sam didn’t ask questions.

**{ the end }**

**Author's Note:**

> ☆ [reblog art](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188778068030/weird-but-confident-castiel-enjoys-going-through)  
☆ [reblog fic](https://almaasi.tumblr.com/post/188778166585/weird-but-confident)
> 
> [I, uh... I made the "u make my ♡ skip a beet" t-shirt from the art, if you're interested?](https://www.redbubble.com/people/almaasi/works/42169900-u-make-my-heart-skip-a-beet?asc=u&p=t-shirt)
> 
> And [here's all my other fics!!](https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaasi/works) More to follow weekly :D It'll be a mixture of _Good Omens_ and _Star Trek: Deep Space Nine_, as well as Destiel~
> 
> Lastly, if you're reading this, I hope wonderful, lovely things seek you out and settle comfortably into your life. ♡♡♡  
Elmie x


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